Seven Years Later
by CuriousityKilledTheCatfish
Summary: After the Sandbrook case was solved, Alec Hardy moved away from Broadchurch for good. In an unlikely turn of events, he meets Miller again, and in the strangest of places. Post Season 2. Spoilers.
1. London

**A/N: I have literally been writing this story for months on end, but finally got round to publishing it.**

 **For the past while I've been having a serious case of 'anglophenia'. I am not British, so there will be mistakes in this story**

 **If I get enough reads I will defiantly make some sequel chapters. Possibly romantic, possibly not... You tell me :D**

 **Published:28/10/2015**

* * *

 **-SEVEN YEARS LATER-**

 **by CuriousityKilledTheCatfish**

* * *

 **...CHAPTER ONE...**

 **-LONDON-**

Hardy rushed into the bookstore, thankful to get out of the misery. He scrubbed a hand over his hair - it was sopping, and just like the rest him: frozen to the bone. He rubbed his glasses on his scarf in an attempt to wash the raindrops off, but only ended up smudging the lenses even more.

There would be no noise in the vintage bookshop, if it wasn't for the cheesy elevator music and two loud children that ran past Hardy and almost knocked him off his feet.

"Oi!" he shouted at the boy and girl, but they paid no attention to him and continued running down the aisles of books. They were giggling like mad. _Kids_ he thought, losing his train of thought. What was he doing here again? _Oh, yes, the book._

Hardy scanned the signs that hung from the ceiling.'Fantasy' – no. 'Science Fiction' – no. He ambled past two women reading the blurbs pink books.'Romance' – defiantly not what was looking for. Then he saw it: 'Crime/Mystery'. Excitement rushed through him.

Hardy had a history with crime novels – he was a copper after all. Ever since he was a teenager Hardy loved the stuff. It was probably what got Hardy so interested in the police in the first place. Well at least that was one of the reasons.

When Hardy was still a skinny - or skinnier - thing with an 80's hairstyle, he was called in for evidence for a murder case. He remembers the day very well. He was on his way home from school when a uniform officer called him in.

"Are you Robert Hardy's son?"

Hardy stopped shuffling along the pavement and ripped his Walkman out his ears.

"Aye. Why?"

"You're going to need you to come with me."

His eyes widened, thinking of what he could have possibly done wrong.

"You're not in trouble, lad. Just a few questions on Mr MacAllan."

"The bloke who ran the video store?"

"Aye, that's the one, boy."

Looking back at it now, the questions they asked him must not have been very important to Mr MacAllan's case, but everything about the visit to that police station was fascinating. As soon as Hardy stepped through the door, it was like entering a new world. He liked the quiet, professional atmosphere of the place. He liked the whiteboard full of pictures and evidence. He liked the idea of working every day to make a difference in something that was bigger than him. DI Ferguson had planted a seed in his mind: he was going to become a detective. And when he left the station, Hardy put on his favourite _The Cure_ song, and ran straight the library to pick up another crime novel.

His hobby had leaked onto his friends, his ex-wife and now Daisy. He and Daisy always took bets cracking who the murderer was as quickly as they could. To his disappointment, Daisy always won. It was such a tragedy that she wanted to be an interior designer.

Hardy was looking for the last book of a well-known murder-mystery series. Disappointment overcame him when he saw the cardboard cut-out sign with writing on it: _Kelly Urban: Trackers_. It would have been perfect if the bookshelf wasn't so empty. In fact, there was not one copy of _Trackers_ left.

What was he going to do now? Daisy asked him to buy the book while he was still in London, and could already see the setback on her face if he showed up empty-handed next time they had tea.

 _Think, Hardy, think_ he told himself. He could go to the other shop across his hotel, but that was a very tiny shore, and Hardy doubted if a busy bookstore like this one didn't have _Trackers_ , the tiny one would. He could try to buy the e-book, but that was beyond his capabilities and he had no clue how to share it with Daisy. Hardy ran his hand through his hair again, just in time for the two blonde children to bump against his legs again.

"Would you please–" he stopped himself there. _Keep your tongue_ he thought. He probably shouldn't shout now, in the bookstore – especially at children. As Hardy watched the children run around the 'Thriller' aisle, until he spotted shadows underneath a bookshelf. He dug his hands under the wood and pulled out two shiny copies of _Trackers_. Hardy's fingers slid over the covers. In bold red font stood _New York Times Bestseller: Kelly Urban's Trackers_. There was black and white photo of woman running in a meadow, and a man chasing her from behind with what looked like a spade. Hardy could already hear his daughter's laughter, because the meadow on the front cover was polluted in daisies. He smiled.

What luck was he having today? Not just one, but _two_ copies, hidden away where no one could find them. One for him, and one for Daisy. Hardy considered that he only needed to buy one copy and lend it to Daisy once he'd finished. He could perhaps leave the other copy for the next hopeful person who came storming through the door, but Hardy did not want to wait. And Daisy wouldn't either. The two of them had been waiting for _Trackers_ for over a year now. And this time he _had_ to be the one to catch the murderer.

He made his way to the counter, and obediently stood in the queue. Only now did he really take notice of the other people in the store. There was a couple of people doing their absolute best to ignore the outside world. A man with headphones, a woman checking her phone. They all looked like they should be on the underground.

A woman at the front of the queue left with one of those pink romance novels in her hand and the queue lazily shuffled forward. At the front now was the mother of the two annoying blonde children. Hardy couldn't understand why she wasn't telling them to shut up. The boy was now busy poking the girl, and she responded by kicking him back. Their mother asked the man at the counter if there were any more copies of _Trackers_ left. Hardy quenched his two books deeper under his arms, and watched the cashier explain.

"But surely–"

"Sorry ma'am, we're been sold out since Wednesday." The cashier said, his eyes flicking toward her misbehaving children.

"Didn't the book come out on Wednesday? Surely you're getting more stock soon? I mean _Trackers_ is _the book_ at the moment." The mother argued.

"We're only getting stock on Monday again, sorry."

"Bollocks." She sighed. "Do you know of any place that sells the book?"

"No ma'am, sorry." The cashier said.

"Fred, for god's sake, would you keep _quiet_?" The mother hissed at her boy.

Hardy looked at the woman properly now. There was something very familiar in her voice - especially when she was shouting, like now. When she turned her head toward Hardy, he recognized her immediately.

"Miller." Hardy whispered to himself.

"Are you going to buy something ma'am? There is quiet the queue, in case you haven't noticed."

"Miller?!" Hardy said, "Ellie?"

She turned around, frowning. The two children, a few people in the queue and the cashier looked at him now.

"Miller?" His pacemaker gave a funny jolt.

"Hardy?" she hesitated, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Miller." He smiled.

"What happened to your beard?"

She started giggling, and some more heads turned to look at him. Hardy felt unpleasantly self-conscious. If anything, she was the one who looked different. Her hair was long. Very long. It ran past her shoulders in lazy curls, not the ones he was used to. Or used to be used to. Hardy left Broadchurch a long time ago. So long ago in fact that some days, weeks even, go by when he doesn't think of the bloody town with the bloody smiling bloody faces. But now, looking at the most smiley face in the whole of Broadchurch, the memories rushed back at him.

They were the pier, on the side of that faithful beach, sitting on the bench. Her curls were flapping up in the wind. She smiled a sad little smile, "Look at us: former detectives club."

They were in the court. She was in the dock, looking like death, as Sharon Bishop threw the questions at her. She was crying, although she was pretending she wasn't – she did that often. He had his hands curled up in fists under his chair.

They were in his little blue shack, both staring at the photos and maps and sticky notes she assembled. He watched her take her marker, and draw a long line connecting Ricky Gillespie from the wedding venue to house...

Hardy popped back into the world when he felt Millers hand pulling his arm.

"No way!" Miller enthused, "Where did you find this?" she asked, looking at _Trackers_ open-mouthed. The whole shop went quiet.

"I've been looking for it all afternoon. Not one bookshop in London has it!"

"That's not fair!" someone said.

"Where'd the bloke find it?" another said.

Even the cashier pulled a face, demanding an explanation.

"It - it was under a shelf somewhere. 'Thriller' aisle I think." Hardy said.

He was not used to his own words having such an effect anymore. The entire queue stormed off on Hardy's command, rushing toward the 'Thriller' aisle. It was like they were all prospectors just being told that there's a pile of gold bricks lying around somewhere.

Miller laughed and Hardy went on to pay for both books, stuffing a few notes in the cashier's hands. Miller was looking at him with those big eyes of hers, and Hardy gave her the one book – Daisy's book. There was something about Miller that always made him be _nice_. Miller thanked him multiple times, which made him uncomfortable again. Hardy guessed he'd have to work out how to buy _Trackers_ on Kindle after all.

"I owe you now." She said, tapping her fingers on the book impatiently, waiting for the ideas to come, "We should get coffee! We can get now. I saw a place down the street –"

"Coffee, mum?" a little boy asked, his voice thick with disappointment. "Lizzy and I want to go the Lego shop, and you promised…"

"Mum?" Hardy asked. It took him a while to snap that the blonde kids must be Miller's.

"Stop complaining, Fred. We can go to that after coffee. Tom would want to come with anyways."

The boy crossed his arms. "Who are you anyway?" He glanced up at Hardy.

Miller answered for him. "This is Mr Hardy, he's a friend. I used to work with him when you were little."

"Wait is this your toddler?" Hardy asked.

"He's nine now." Miller said.

" _Nine_?" Hardy shook his head. He did the math. Had it been _seven years_? Seven years since he left Broadchurch! It didn't feel like yesterday exactly, put just watching the product of seven years of time made it feel like a lifetime had passed. Fred was just the the boy he remembered in the push cart – long blonde curls. He had Ellie's round eyes exactly, if it they weren't blue.

"It's my birthday in two months, so technically I'm ten already." Fred boasted to Hardy.

"No…" The girl said, "You're only ten when you turn ten, silly."

"No. It doesn't work like that, Elizabeth. You won't understand because you're still se-"

"Quit fighting or I'll have you both stay at Olly's – for a week. You too, Lizzy." Miller smirked as Fred and the girl stopped arguing, but if looks could kill.

"Oh, and that's Lizzy, the Latimer's youngest." she gestured toward the little girl who must be exactly seven years old now.

"Okay so you're in for coffee?"

"Actually, I have plans..."

"Oh no, you're not doing this again. If your plans are going back to your hotel and reading your book, then no, you're having coffee with me, Fred and Lizzy. You've got so much to tell me I'm sure. Where do you live again? Weymouth? And Daisy? Come on Hardy, what are the chances?"

Hardy looked at her, eyes insipid. He forgot how bloody relentless the woman can be.

"Yeah, I'll come." Hardy agreed hastily, "But you're paying, Miller. Everything's so bloody overpriced here."


	2. Soppy Brown Eyes

**A/N:** **You will notice a lot of my own characters in this story. I am personally not a huge fan of OC's, but this story wouldn't work without them.**

 **Thank you so much for those of you who have reviewed, favourited and followed this story. You guys are all excellent humans.**

 **Published: 18/11/2015**

* * *

 **...CHAPTER 2...**

 **-SOPPY BROWN EYES-**

Of all the things Ellie thought Fred would be exposed to in London, meeting Hardy in a bookshop was last on that list. Even less so would be her little boy actually liking Hardy. He was impressed by things like the card-key for their hotel room, and video game stores around every corner and then – after twenty minutes in a coffee shop - blood Alec Hardy.

"So why are you in London, Miller?"

Ellie was surprised when Fred answered for her.

"My brother Tom, he's nine years older than me-"

"Yeah I've met him." Hardy said, sipping his tea.

"You have?" Fred looked at his mother with question marks.

"I met him when I was still in Broadchruch." Hardy answered.

"Oh, well. Tom, he's got this robotics competition on." Fred continued.

"It's called the VEX National Robotics Championship!" Lizzy exclaimed. "And his team built this robot called-"

"K-9!" the two children said in unison.

The two children giggled. Ellie shot Hardy a look.

"What?" He glared at her, "I know what bloody _Doctor Who_ is, Miller."

"I never said-"

"I know. Just don't fuss, Miller."

Fred's eyes rounded with admiration. He'd never heard anyone talk to his mother like that.

* * *

Hardy caught the late train from London to Weymouth, and when he arrived, Gill and Daisy surprised him at the station to pick him up. He nearly fell of the platform when Daisy flew into his arms, golden grin on her face.

"Dad!"

"Hello darlin'!" Her hugs took the air out of him. "I was only gone one weekend and now it's like I'm Mark Watney returning from bloody Mars."

"So did you get it then?"

"What?"

" _Trackers_ , dad!" Daisy rolled her eyes. He could practically hear her think: 'Why do you have to be so daft.'

"Sure you're not getting Alzheimer's, eh Alec?" Gill teased. He gave her a look.

"Yeah. But I only got one, Dais. London's out of bloody hard copies. I'll try and get it on my iPad."

Gill shook her head. "That all the kids want these days – those books on their tablets. What do you call them, Dais?"

"E-books?"

"Yes, those are the suckers. No one appreciates the smell of freshly printed pages anymore." Gill said, then pushing up her glasses as they walked to the car.

Hardy sighed. Daisy had bought her car – or the dishwasher on wheels (A nickname Gill had come up with after two bottles of Merlot.) Hardy had to scrunch himself into the back with Gill, their heads nearly touching the car was so small.

"Listen, Alec, I made us three some roast for tonight."

Hardy shot his daughter a look. "Did you put her up to this?"

"Come on dad, don't be an idiot. We cooked all afternoon long. You can't eat take-out every night of your life. Your cholesterol's already through the roof."

Gill nodded in agreement. She's seen the brick-sized pills he drinks. "I even made Yorkshire puddings."

"Like that's going to help my arteries." Hardy grumbled.

"It's better than pizza six nights in a row." Daisy said.

"That was one time!"

"Lies, Alec. It was twice this year alone." Gill corrected and the two women burst out laughing. Hardy couldn't help but grin either. The car went silent when Hardy's phone rang. He scorned. What did Watts want from him at this time - and on a Sunday?

"What?"

"Hardy we need you at the Higginson, ASAP."

"What is it now?" he sighed. "It's Sunday night, Watts. My daughter's here from Bristol for the night. Can't it wait till tomorrow?"

The Admirable Higginson Pub was about the only place where serious crime took place in Weymouth.

"Hardy, it's an assault."

Drugs and drunk old men punching each other was what Watts dealt with on a daily basis.

"Surly you can handle a f-" he bite his bottom lip. The temptation to swear at Watts was enormous, but Gill was close enough to slap him. She had this thing about speaking proper and humane to people. "a little assault? Wait, what about those boxing classes you took last year?"

"It's not like that." Watts blurted at him, and then, in a lower tone: "The girl doesn't want to talk to anyone, Hardy." Hardy winced. An assaulted female. His imagination ran wild. "We can't even get a name out - not even the female uniforms."

"Can't you call O'Brien? Why the hell do you want me there? I can barely talk to a streetlamp."

Daisy gave a snort.

"Come on, Hardy. We need those soppy brown eyes."

He groaned. Daisy and Gill dropped him off at the pub. He told them to keep the food warm in the oven.

Watts stood in the car park of the pub waiting.

"Brief me." Hardy instructed.

"Girl. Very young."

"Twenties?"

"Yeah, maybe older. One of the bartenders called. Said there's a raped girl outside the pub."

Hardy shot a look at Watts. " _Raped_? You said it was assault."

"Assault, sexual assault-"

"Are two very different things, Watts. I don't want to do this anymore. I can't handle… _women_."

"Don't start with the whole _my-name-is-Alec-and-I'm-a-complete-dork_ shit. People listen to you when you talk, Hardy."

They went quiet suddenly. One of the uniforms walked past them with wide eyes. Hardy cursed his own words.

Truth is Hardy had been avoiding cases with younger people in for years. It was a lot easier to deal with theft and older men punching each other in pubs. This, was on a whole different level. A young girl who got raped. Hardy could hardly deal with his own emotional baggage regarding a raped woman, how would he handle the girl's?

Watts was looking at him, pleading. Of course Watts didn't want this case. Hardy mentally rolled his eyes and asked where the girl was. Watts pointed to a figure next to a dumpster in the corner of the parking lot.

Immediately, just like Hardy suspected it would, time blurred into molasses. Hardy was transported to a moment he had only experienced twice before in his life. It was that moment before he dived into the river, that moment before he found Daniel Latimer's body.

His vision became tunneled. His legs like noodles. His pacemaker working overtime to control his dodgy heart. It was only him and the victim now. He stared at a thick grey blanket that lay on the pavement. Inside the creases and folds, a blonde head stuck out. Her eyes closed, like she was dead. Just as he had battled against the river current and the sand of Harbour Cliff beach, Hardy wrestled through the gravel of the parking lot. He approached her slowly.

Although she was pretty, Hardy shuddered at the sight of her. The blanket covered her entire body except naked pale shoulders. Across her collarbone and neck were violet red cuts. Dry blood sneaked up her face in gravity-defying pathways. Her eyes were pink from crying.

Hardy would have thought her dead, if she wasn't breathing. Her skin was light enough to confirm that anyway.

His heart filled with compassion. What was he supposed to do? If the girl didn't want to speak to the charismatic Watts, what chance did he have with her? She looked petrified.

"It's November." He started. The girl stirred, but didn't look at Hardy. He didn't blame her.

"Do you want my coat?" he asked. She opened her eyes but looked away from him. "Look, I understood the last thing you need now is some fifty-year old cop trying to drag questions out you, but you need to talk." He said sternly, "I want to help you." He said a little more sympathetically.

He carefully put his coat on her shoulders.

"My name's Alec Hardy, I'm a detective."

"Alice. Alice Brookes." She croaked. "I'm seventeen."

It was his turn to remain silent. His heart broke when her eyes pierced into his. Seventeen. Seventeen. _Seventeen._

"Why are you at a pub, Alice?"

"She said she'd meet me here... and then that bloke bought me…"

"Why are you out here, Alice?" Hardy spoke in tones he'd only ever used when Daisy was a baby.

"There was a man." She sobbed, before she revealed her the cuts in her abdomen to Hardy.

* * *

DS Andrew Watts came in the following morning and found Hardy viciously typing behind his laptop.

"Have you been here all night?" he asked.

"Don't be ridiculous. Only since four."

"Well you look like shite."

"Right back at you." Hardy barked, "How's Alice?"

"The hospital said she'd be ready for questioning in three days." Watts said. "Those cuts in her stomach needs operating. Internal organ damage, apparently."

"Did you talk to the parents?"

"Course not."

"Are you going to leave all the hard parts to me, eh? How else are you going to gain experience?"

Watts shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. Hardy continued talking.

"What kind of a man rapes a seventeen year old girl, cuts her up and leaves her in a parking lot?"

"What can of a man rapes in a public place?" Watts said.

"She could have just been dumped there." Hardy suggested.

"True." Watts said. He looked like he didn't sleep at all. "I can't stop thinking about it." He said. "My daughters…"

There was a moment of silent exchange between Watts and Hardy. The sadness peered through Hardy's heavy eyelids. He knew what Watts meant. He was paranoid for Daisy when he returned home. Gave her suffocating hug.

"When is the questioning with the bartender?" Hardy asked.

"Nine." Watts said, "I can't come with, you know."

"Do you want to keep working on that armed robbery?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, you do that. O'Brien can help me with this then."

"No!" He blurted, "I mean, I want to help with this case." Watts said, "I'm just busy..."

"You're in or you're out, Watts." Hardy commanded lazily. The two young DS's O'Brien and Watts have been competing for a promotion for months now.

Watts rubbed his face. "Yeah, fine, I'll come."

* * *

Jonathan Burns, the bartender at the Higginson, was Hardy's image of what criminals always looked like. Hardy knew that the best criminals came in unexpected forms, but Jonathan Burns fit Hardy's category of thug pretty fast. Crusty red skin, tattoos and nose rings covered his face, not to mention his muscly steroid arms.

"Mr Burns?"

"Oh, Jonno please. Yeah, hello. You're the other detective from last night."

A knuckle-cracking hand shook Hardy's and Watts's.

"You're Scottish. Don't get many Scots down South." Burns said.

"My collages said that you found a raped girl outside the pub?"

"Yeah." He said, looking offended that Hardy ignored his small talk.

"And?"

"I found her when me was taking out the rubbish. I gave her a blanket."

"You did what?!"

"It was cold, and she was half naked. I always keeps a blanket-"

"You left her out there?" Hardy questioned. "And continued working?"

"Yeah, it was a busy night. There was a football game. Liverpool versus-"

"You just left her out there?" Watts accused. Hardy eyed him, trying to understand his logic.

"Hey now, wait. I did ring the police. I did you a massive favour, mate. "

"You reported a crime. That's not a favour, Mr Burns, that's law." Hardy felt his bad cop side heat up. "How did you know she got sexually abused and raped?"

That kept Burns quiet. "The girl had _that look_."

Hardy raised an eyebrow.

Burns shifted behind the counter. "All women have it when it does happen to them. She looked helpless, scared. Shame, poor thing."

"You've seen raped women, Mr Burns?" Watts asked.

"What, you think I did it? I _didn't_." Burns said, like it was concrete. "I was working all night long. You can ask the boys. Me was handing out drinks 'till one a.m."

"Can you give me the names and numbers of your Alibis?"

He did. Watts, who stood beside Hardy, jotted them down.

"We'll be confirming that." Hardy said.

"Go ahead, I'm here all-night, every-night." Burns said, like he was untouchable.

"So you saw the girl sitting in the parking lot, gave her a blanket, and rang 999?"

"No. Before I gave the blanket the girl, she was talking with this man."

Hardy tightened his grip on his pen. He was getting somewhere.

"She laid down on the floor and he spoke from the inside of his truck."

"Truck?"

"Yeah, a pick-up truck. It was dark, but I think it was a blue Toyota."

Hardy scribbled in in notebook. "What did the man say to her?"

"Mate, look I'm not Einstein. I don't remember. But he didn't sound too pleased."

"Can you describe his voice?"

"It was a man's. I guess it was sort of high pitched."

Hardy nodded. "Anything else?"

"Oh!" Burns looked pleased with his memory. "The truck had a bumper sticker! Yeah it was yellow and it had the name of some church written on it."

"Can you remember the name of the church?"

"Yeah, I can actually. It said St. Andrews on it. Wait," Burns said, like he remembered something off the top of his head. "-isn't that the church in-"

"Broadchruch." Hardy finished for him. "It's in Broadchruch."

* * *

 **A/N: Don't worry, we have some serious Miller coming up in Chapter 3! :D**


	3. Ellie Mornings

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the weirdest weirdo in my life, Keren. She is the only person I know in flesh and bone to enjoy my writing. Thank you for tolerating my babbling about Doctor Who and David Tennant, Keren. Have an awesomesauce holiday, my friend.**

 **This chapter is written from Miller's POV. I tend to twitch narratives (I know, I know...) so I try to stick to one character per chapter.**

 **The whole chapter is supposed to be comical and funny so let me know what you think. It was inspired by a particular scene from Doctor Who:** **/watch?v=mnJX0ydvfBw**

 **Thanks again to everyone who read, reviewed, followed and favourited this. Much appreciated.**

 **Published: 1 December 2015**

* * *

 **…CHAPTER 3…**

 **-ELLIE MORNINGS-**

Tuesday mornings were _Ellie_ mornings. Beth picked Fred up at six so he and Lizzy could go to karate lessons, Tom left for uni months ago so he was never home anyways and Lucy – who usually ate breakfast with them – was instructed to never come on Tuesdays because Ellie wanted the morning to herself.

Tuesdays were the best. She would wake up at seven instead of six and run herself a long bath. After that, she'd cook herself scrambled eggs and listen to the morning radio until the clock hit eight and she'd drive to work. Sometimes she had extra time do odd jobs like paint her toe nails or her newest task of de-cluttering the storeroom below the staircase.

Tuesdays were very relaxing. Ellie was always excited to get rid of Fred for a few hours. Don't get Ellie wrong, she loved her sons - more than chocolate - but they were hard work. Although almost ten, Fred still was 'incapable' of making his own Coco-Pops.

When Ellie woke, she knew everything was wrong all at once. She felt too well rested and the room was too light and – _shit_ – it was 9:44.

Ellie practically leaped out of bed. Whilst trying to pull on clothes and do make-up and the same time, she cursed the universe under her breath. Tuesday, of all days, her alarm decided to commit suicide. And what was wrong with her? She wasn't a late sleeper anyways.

In an impressive seven minutes flat, Ellie shuffled out onto her driveway, and three minutes later she was outside the police station. It truly was amazing what adrenalin could do to someone. Ellie had everything from case files to her phone to a coffee flask clasped under her arms as she frantically trotted into the office. She exchanged awkward glances with her co-workers, knowing she probably looked crazy since her hair was still loose.

To Ellie's absolute horror, Jenkinson was obstructing the kitchenette, sipping tea - her gaze unsettling.

"Morning Ellie." She said.

"Morning!" Ellie half-shouted, "I am incredibly sorry… I overslept completely!"

"This is the second time you're late this month."

"I know." Ellie breathed. Last time she was late because Fred forgot his lunch at home. He had called from his teacher's phone and begged Ellie to turn the car around, which she did. Ellie knew she did way too much for that child. Packed lunches every day and that ungodly expensive PlayStation 6. She knew if anything, Fred would be the end of her.

"Don't let it happen again."

"I won't, ma'am." She said, tightening her grip on the papers in her arms.

When Ellie made her way into her office, a number of things all happened at once. Firstly, the doorway appeared to be occupied by something solid - a person – which she collided into like a meteor hitting earth. Then, her chest impacted the other chest, which impacted with the floor, which caused her coffee to come showering all over her head. She opened her eyes and saw a close-up, high definition view of a grunting man's face.

"Hardy?!" Ellie did her best to squirm off of him, only to slip in the coffee and collapse on his chest.

"WhatthefuckMiller?!" He groaned.

If timing couldn't be any better, Bob Daniels popped his head around the door.

"Ellie, I wanted to – _whoa_. What is going on? Are you okay?"

"Christ on a bike!" Ellie sighed, finally getting off Hardy. He grunted and attempted to sit up on his matchstick legs. Ellie ran a hand over her now sticky hair and replied to Bob: "I really don't know."

"I do." Hardy snapped, "Miller just ran onto me like a bull in a china shop."

Ellie's eyes narrowed, biting back a hurtful response. She hated it when he missed the 'r' in her surname. "Why are you here?"

"Morning to you too, Miller. No need to be so cold." Hardy said hotly.

There was a moment of quiet whist they both sat in the pile of coffee. Hardy held a protective hand over his chin, and Miller on her forehead – the places of impact. He was scorning at her.

"Why'd you run into me?"

"What are you even doing here?"

"Must I get medical up here?" Bob asked, trying his best to restrict a smile. "Or a mop maybe?"

"Please _don't_." Ellie said, her snappy comment more aimed at Hardy than anyone else.

"Okay then…" Bob stalked off. After cleaning most of the coffee off the floor, and picking up every last hair pin off the floor, Ellie returned for the kitchenette with two cups of tea. She found Hardy looking positively bored in her office. He was sitting at her desk – in his old chair - looking at a framed picture of Tom and Fred.

"So why are you here?" Ellie asked, popping the cup on the desk.

"You have a very thick skull, Miller."

"What do you want me to do, Hardy? Apologize for influencing your health?"

Hardy looked up her, eyes wide. He knew she was mad, but he didn't know she was _that_ made. God, she looked like someone pissed on her cornflakes.

"I'm sorry, _sir_ , for making your day a little-"

"Whoa, Miller, I was kidding."

Ellie looked at his alarmed face, "Get out my chair." she instructed, "Please."

" 'Kay" he jumped up, and they swapped seats. He was running hands through his hair, ruffling it up, trying to get the wet coffee out his hair. When Ellie sat down, she felt nostalgia creep up her chest. Being in this office with Hardy, arguing about things… it reminded her of a long time ago.

"So why are you here?" Ellie asked for the how-many-ith time that day.

"I need your help on a case." He said.

"Sandbrook 2.0?" Ellie smirked, attempting to light the atmosphere. It didn't work.

"No. A new case in Weymouth. We have reason to believe that the suspect comes from Broadchurch."

She nodded, and stated trying to pin back her hair.

"Her name is Alice Brookes," Hardy shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "She was found raped and assaulted outside a pub last Sunday night." Hardy paused, and that's when Ellie noticed the state he was in. There were circles under his eyes his slouched posture indicated just how terrible he must be feeling. Even without the scruff, he looked like he did before his heart operation. What happened to the man she saw in London? The shaved, (and slightly scary) smiling Hardy who wore that red scarf. God, even his hair was enthusiastic in London. His auburn locks flicked up toward the ceiling while they were in that coffee shop, but now it was back to being sad and floppy.

"Alice can't remember the night well because she was drugged somehow." He sucked in air. "She's seventeen."

 _Seventeen_. Ellie repeated to herself. No wonder Hardy looked like he did. He was probably not sleeping again, having become too attached to the case. "Who drugged her?"

"Still working on that. None of the barmen know anything about it, obviously. Her drink got spiked with a whole cocktail of drugs-"

"-that erased her memory?"

"We believe so. We don't know yet, because Alice can't even talk to us, she's in a coma."

"A coma? How did that happen?"

Hardy sipped his tea, he had difficulty understanding this himself. "Too much stress on her body from the drugs and alcohol. Apparently that shuts down the body temporarily. She needed surgery. The rapist cut into her with a knife all over her belly and neck."

"Are you kidding me?" Ellie shook her head in disbelief. She had a disturbing mental image of what the girl must have looked like. Ellie shuddered. Then she remembered Hardy saying the suspect comes from her town. "How do you know the rapist is from Broadchruch?"

"An eye-witness said they saw a guy drop Alice off in the pub's parking lot. CCTV trails the car back to the Weymouth-Broadchruch- Urg basically anywhere Southeast of Weymouth."

"That's... broad."

"Exactly." Hardy agreed.

"Although I doubt the car drove to France." Miller let out a monosyllabic chuckle at her own joke. "So why've you come back to Broadchruch."

"Because I miss you, Miller." He said flatly.

"I wish." Miller hushed. It was his turn to smirk.

"No, we've narrowed it the area down to Broadchruch because the car had a sticker on it – St Andrew's Church." Hardy had recapitulated the story to himself so many times, that he knew as well as the Pippa/Lisa case.

"Oh that yellow sticker… Wait, the one with the black sheep on it… Yes, fat chance the rapist comes from the farms in the area. What is the car's number plate? I'll have one of the uniforms check the server."

"We couldn't get the number plate. But the car was identified as a blue Toyota Hilux."

"You also have outdated cameras, don't you?" Ellie sighed. She'd been struggling with the town to update their CCTV for years now. "Wait, how reliable is the witness that saw the church sticker?"

"Erm - he's okay-ish." Hardy said, "Half-drunk bar tender."

"Then why are you jumping to conclusions? What if he lied about the sticker?"

Hardy pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "The evidence dried up, Miller. The parents are going crazy. The father is the headmaster of a High School, and the media have started to vulture around. I have to do something."

"A Toyota what exactly?"

"A blue Hilux. 2013 model."

She scribbled it down in the corner of her desk calendar. "I'll have my people look out for it. Can't be that many around."

"Oh, and CCTV on the road entering Broadchruch, please. For round ten to two o'clock on Sunday the sixth of November. Maybe those cameras in High Street and the end of Linton road. And perhaps you end of the A-"

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Hold your horses! Slower." He was doing the _bam bam bam_ thing again. Hardy rolled his eyes, repeating his words deliberately slower, stopping at each fact.

"If you could just email that to me, I'd appreciate it."

"Same old email?

Miller nodded. "Thanks Miller." Hardy said. He bought his hands up to his hair again and re-arranged his fringe so it flipped the other way. Ellie snorted mentally, still thinking how naked Hardy looked without a beard, but he barked a "What?", so she mustn't have done it so mentally after all.

"No it's just that Paul is going to _love_ that someone from his church potentially did this." Ellie said.

"Coats? The priest? Is he still here?"

"Oh yes. He married Becca Fisher a few years back. His kids are in Fred's school."

"Coats has kids?" Hardy scoffed.

"Three boys and a Becca is pregnant with a forth."

"They didn't hesitate, did they?" Hardy smiled silently and took the last sip of his tea. The two detectives sat in awkward silence as they listened to Bob Daniels mumble in a whisper: "Yeah, Ellie just ran straight into Hardy and they toppled on top of each other."

"No way… I wish I saw that. Alec Hardy and Ellie? That is brilliant, Bob. You said they were accused of having an affair right?" Ellie heard PC Connor whisper.

Hardy gave her a look. Ellie guessed that this little incident will make for enough tea break gossip for her co-workers for a good few weeks but because it already started, fifteen minutes after it had happened, it made her stomach twist uncomfortably. That was one characteristic she never quiet liked about Bob Daniels, his big mouth. It made her feel slightly betrayed by her old friend.

Ellie ran a hand up to her forehead, feeling a small bump there already. A quick glance over at Hardy revealed a similar pink circle on his jawbone.

"Look, my skull might be thick, but your chin is damn sharp." Ellie accused.

Hardy's eyebrows contracted, "Don't go blaming me, Miller. I'm not the one bulldozing into the office."

"Ha! I wasn't _bulldozing_ …"

Was he actually chuckling?

"Yes, okay Miller… Believe what makes you sleep."

He _was_ chuckling! And he was trying to hide it by downing the last of his tea. Ellie didn't think Hardy did laughing. Eyes all scrunched up, shoulders shaking about. It was a strange look on her former boss, but it didn't look unnatural.

"I'm starving." Ellie declared. "Have you had breakfast?"

'It's almost eleven in the morning."

"Lunch then? Do you want a muffin? I think someone bought choc chip yesterday-"

"No thanks. I have to leave anyway. Inform the Bridport about Alice Brooke's case. And then Devon."

"Right." Ellie said.

"Well, call me." Hardy muffled. His head jerk awkwardly when he realized how that would have sounded to Bob Daniels: "You know, call me to let me know if you find the Blue Toyota.

"And the CCTV." Ellie said.

"And the CCTV." He repeated. "Thanks for the tea, Miller."

"Bye. Good luck with your case."

She watched him take his long strides down the hallway - hands deep in pockets, eyes straight ahead. Bob Daniels was hushing people in the kitchenette, almost saying: "Look there he is!" She caught a glimpse of Hardy rolling his eyes at them. Ellie couldn't help but think how a broken man might have gotten fixed.


	4. Two Bruises

**A/N: I have not forgotten nor given up on this story, guys. I know it's been a while *cough* three months *cough*, but at least it's not seven years later...**

 **See what I did there :)**

 **Published: 19/03/2016**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 4-**

 **...TWO BRUISES...**

"Watts!" the tall detective barked.

"What!?" The shorter one barked back.

"Have you checked the CCTV from Foxglove Road in Sandbrook yet?" Hardy moaned from his office, his accent thick with caffeine and impatience.

The Weymouth police station had thick clay brick walls, making it impossible to hear anyone from the next room. Hardy waited in irritation for his DS to answer. It was only Watts and Hardy in the office at this time of the night, so Hardy didn't have to pretend to be in a good mood.

"Well!?" He shouted, tapping his feet on the legs of his office chair.

"I checked them all, sir. The Toyota defiantly wasn't in Foxglove road on night of the sixth of November."

Hardy popped out his office to Watt's desk.

"This would be so much easier if we had the number plate, hey?"

"Out-dated CCTV, I tell you, it will be the end of me."

"It took the off-ramp on the A35, which means it had to take Foxglove or Burton. Or it went around town and turned by that roundabout."

"God." Watts sighed. It was like tracking a fucking U.F.O. They both stared at Watt's screen, until the camping of heels came parading in.

"The Toyota wasn't on the A35 entering Sandbrook, or in Burton road."

She placed a large pink mug on her desk opposite Watts and swung her handbag on top of Watt's desk. Hardy sent a questioning stare to Watts and he replied with a half-angry half-confused shrug. Neither of them knew what the woman was doing here.

"I would have checked the roads in Bridport as well," DS O'Brien said, "but you boys never forwarded the videos to me."

Watts put two fingers to his head and pretended to summit suicide behind O'Brien's back. It would have been funny if Hardy wasn't in such a bad mood.

"Melissa, with all respect, will you please leave." Watts muttered, "You are not part of this investigation."

"What is it, Andy? Do you think you and Hardy are going to gang up against me again?" O'Brien, rolled her eyes, "Silly, silly, you two are. This case is the biggest thing that's hit Weymouth since the Walditch murder in 2016, which I remind you I solved and you didn't."

Watt's face dropped. Since Hardy met Watts he had a strong dislike from DS Melissa O'Brien, and Hardy fully understood it. She was a young, manipulative detective on a killer career path. She wanted to be a DI at Weymouth police station since she joined the force, and she didn't care who she took down along the way.

"I want to be part of Alice Brooke's case, whether you and Hardy allow it or not."

"I am right here, you know." Hardy growled.

"Of course you are, Alec! I am sorry to hear about your um- injury." O'Brien gave an annoying monotones giggle, "Some copper from Broadchurch told me about your _collision_ with their DI. "

Hardy felt self conscious about his blue chin once again. Watt's eyes narrowed.

"But I want you to hear this too, Alec. I spoke to CS Smith and he said it is fine if I join you two on Alice Brooke's case."

Watts chuckled and gave her a sour look. "Ridiculous."

This woman stuck her fingers in every pie that came past her. Persuading or - more likely bribing - Chief Superintendent Smith… Hardy's first idea was to fight her, but he knew better than that. He would have to remain neutral, taking Watt's side would seem unfair toward O'Brien, and taking O'Brien's side – well there was no way Hardy was picking O'Brien's side. Besides, more hands meant a faster way to solve the case.

"Fine," Hardy said at last, watching a satisfied simper appear on the woman's face. "You can interfere with my case as much as you please, but I will not tolerate your bitching around. This is an investigation, DS O'Brien, Watts. I will not allow you to start having childish bickers every day." Hardy instructed, feeling strange for ordering at Watts.

"Yes, Sir." O'Brien said.

Watts nodded grumpily.

"Right." Hardy said. "Here's the CCTV from Devon and Bridport." Hardy placed a memory stick on the edge where Watts and O'Brien's tables met.

"I have already checked most of Bridport's, but none of Devon's. If you two can check the other half CCTV for tomorrow." Hardy said.

"Yes, sir."

"Yeah, Hardy."

He grabbing his coat and walking out the door.

"Good luck with the bruise!" O'Brien shouted when he walked out. He could hear the bickering start as soon as turned out the corridor.

* * *

Ellie had to do a lot of explaining to everyone about where she got her lovely purple bruise from.

Beth thought she's fell off of somewhere, like she fell off that ladder while she and Tom were still repainting the house.

Lucy obviously assumed the very worst. She jumped to the conclusion that her little sister had had wild sexing a cheap one night stand, and that the bruise was a hickey. Ellie had to remind her sister about how she actually didn't enjoy sex to a certain extent, and that she was single for a reason.

"Whatever you want me to believe, El." she replied with a wink and a nudge.

Fred thought that his mum had gotten into a police fight.

"No, I ran into someone, Fred."

"And punched them in the ribs as you backflipped-"

"What movies has Olly been showing you?" Ellie sighed. It was barley achievable to get a little boy to grow up without violent movies today, but even harder so to do it with someone like Olly around.

"Nothing, mum. Olly only lends me his PlayStation games." Fred said. "I only like Disney films." Fred smiled, fooling no one.

"Have you finished your homework?"

Ellie didn't even have to ask, by the looks of Fred avoidance of eye contact and sudden interest of the fridge magnets.

Ellie shook her head. "It's okay. We'll eat first. Fish and chips?"

* * *

As he shuffled through the threshold to his apartment, Hardy was immediately attacked by Murphy, the three-legged pug.

"Urg!" he groaned, cursing at the creature. Gill had snuck into his apartment again to watch TV.

"You're home! Took long enough." said Gill. The TV was loudly on some reality show.

"I'm going to take back my key, Gill." Hardy warned, switching off the screen immediately. He was tiered of finding her on his couch nearly every night.

"Bad day, eh?" Gill asked, stroking Murphy.

According to Daisy, Murphy the pug was the main reason Gill was divorced. She loved that thing even more than she loved AnimalPlanet documentaries and interfering with other people's business.

"Yes, Alec did have a bad day, yes he did, Murphs." she spoke to the dog, kissing it's swollen lips, making Hardy cringe in disgust.

"I cooked for you, Alec."

"What _horrors_ have you created this time?"

"It is called Moussaka." Gill said.

"Mou-what-a?"

"It's basically like aubergine lasagne." Gill explained, "Instead of pasta there's layers of aubergine."

Hardy pulled a face. Aubergine instead of pastry.

"Daisy sent the recipe, because ' _Dad, you have to stop eating so much carbs'_."

"Brilliant."

"What happened to your face?"

Hardy shrugged, turning away from her. "It's a long story."

"Don't _it's a long story_ me. It looks sore."

Before Hardy knew what was happening, Gill's fingers moved over his chin, tickling his late night stubble. Hardy could not help but think of how two seconds ago those fingers had been on Murphy's arse.

"Gerroff!" Hardy hissed. Murphy started barking as his cell phone rang.

With a warning glance in Gill's direction, Hardy answered the phone.

"Yes?" he growled.

"It's me." Miller said.

"What do you want?"

Across the line, Miller rolled her eyes, thinking how rude the phone made this man even ruder.

"I sent the CCTV to you." She said.

"Oh." Hardy spooked off into his bedroom, away from Gill's curious ears. " 'Kay, thanks."

"It doesn't seem like anything is going on in the videos, I've checked most of them. It makes me think the rapist took an alternative route via farm roads."

"Okay."

"Are you busy doing something else? You seem distracted."

" 'M not." Hardy said, pushing Murphy off his bed with one hand. "It makes sense if they didn't use any main roads because my team can't find anything."

"Yes. I've been thinking and I think the best way to find the Hilux is at church. Paul says those bumper stickers were handed out in Easter 2017, which makes whoever is the driver of the Hilux someone who came to St. Andrew's 125th birthday."

"So someone who defiantly lives in Broadchurch?" Hardy said, trying to get rid of Murphy, who started chewing on the cord of Hardy's bedside lamp.

"Or not. A lot of people came to the festival that week. Some blokes from Devon, even some historians from America. but Paul and I both think your best shot at finding the car is to come to the church on Sunday."

"Come to church? Come to Broad-church?"

"Yes. Well I figured only you know what you're looking for, after all." Miller said.

"Miller, I - Murphy - _Murphy!_ "

"Murphy?"

"Sorry it's just –" Hardy stopped the pug from chewing the cable, but pulled the lamp and made it fall on the floor, fluorescent shards scattering the floor.

"What's going on." Ellie asked, hearing repetitive hisses that sounded like _shitshitshit_.

"Ur - Sunday. I'll come then." Hardy said quickly

"Okay." Ellie said, and then the line went dead.

* * *

"Who was that on the line anyway?"

"An old colleague."

"From Glasgow?" Gill mumbled.

"No. She's from Broadchruch." Hardy said simply, and Gill nodded in understanding. She never asked about Broadchurch, which suited him fine.

A part of Hardy was still raw from Danny's death, and all those memories associated with the town. A part of him was ripped out and chucked off those cliffs, never to get back again, and he accepted that. It was easier to move on once you accepted that pre-storm and post-storm you are going to remain two very different people.

But now he was going to have to go back to Broadchurch and for - church?

Hardy was surprised for the invitation, not only did he think he was done with Broadchurch, but also because it sounded like Miller wanted him to come.

2022, the year Miller starts being nice to him, he snorted inwardly at that. This was a bad idea. This was a _fucking_ bad idea. Not only was he sure to screw up social interactions with people from that bloody small town, but he was guaranteed to dig up old wounds that he left buried on those cliffs. Old feelings.

"It's that Ellie-woman, isn't it?" Gill asked.

Even Murphy remained quiet for a moment. "Yes. Miller."

"Relax, Tess told me about her years ago, I haven't been going through your emails or anything." Gill argued. "Are you going to see her again?"

"Yes. I'm driving down to Broadchurch on Sunday."

This really was a fucking terrible idea.


End file.
